


Mycroft

by bbkris10



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, just your typical mycroft/reader fic, or is it??????, ur gonna want to read this on all the way through ;)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 21:55:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13373841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbkris10/pseuds/bbkris10





	Mycroft

Silk dresses, sprawling suites, nightly feasts, glamorous ballroom dances...yes, it is definitely hard being a princess, you sarcastically think on your way to the meeting. But these administration meetings are tedious. You and your parents (did I forget to mention that they're the King and Queen of Britain?) are required to meet once a month with government officials along with the Prime Minister. You roll your eyes as you push open the double doors to the meeting room, startling everyone into standing to greet the royalty. Ugh. You motion at them to sit down as you make your way across the room and plop down in your leather roll-y chair. You prop your elbow on the long rectangular table and sit your chin on your fist. After a moment of stunned silence you cock your eyebrow at the sputtering man who had been reading the opening blah-blah-blahs. He stumbles back into his speech and you let out a big breath and settle back into your chair to endure the next few hours.  
"You are late." your mother's distinctive voice whispers in your ear.  
You lean over and whisper back "I was in the middle of an intense game of chess with the hall monitor."  
"He is a member of the royal guard!"  
"And all he does is strut up and down the corridor trying not to smile, really mother; I was doing him a favor."  
She tries to give you a disapproving look, but it would be more convincing if she wasn't trying to hide a smile. You face forward and catch one of the men staring at you. His eyes linger for a moment longer before they cooly flick away to regard the speaker (The opener is finally finished babbling and a government official is starting the meeting-something about the economy). This leaves you staring at him a little longer before you remember yourself and force your attention to the official. Your thoughts are flying. You get your fair share of staring; you are the princess after all, but the usual response in to hurriedly look away. Sometimes they even throw a blush in there for good measure. But this man was perfectly...confident? Arrogant? He certainty wasn't embarrassed. Your thoughts screech to a halt when the speaker sits down and he stands up.  
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he says glancing at the other government officials “Your majesties,” he says looking directly at you. A smirk ghosts his lips as he pulls a – is that an umbrella? - From his seat. He looks at the clock and the second hand ticks in otherwise complete silence. He suddenly unfurls his umbrella, simultaneously saying “Duck”.  
As soon as soon as the word leaves his lips the wall behind you explodes. You roll your chair back and dive under the table. You look around for your mother, but dust and smoke are all you can see. You feel heat behind you and see fire engulfing your chair and the carpet behind you. You crawl as fast as you can in the opposite direction, towards the other end of the table. You are almost there when the you feel your shin burning in pain. You manage to keep crawling forward while turning your head to look. The fire has caught up to you, and the hem of your gown is aflame, burning into your shin. You roll out from under the table in attempt to put out the fire, but that just manages to spread it to the front of your skirt. You are really panicking now, and frantically rip the bottom half of the skirt off of your dress. You throw the burning material away and stumble to your feet to sprint to the double doors. They are being held open by some of the guards that accompanied the Prime Minister for the meeting. You sidestep the rescue team and firefighters that are rushing into the chaotic room behind you. You shove past some worried members of the royal guard, searching everywhere for your parents. You let a pair of restraining arms hold you back only after you see your parents being escorted to a safe room by their own personal guards. They looked fine, but then they had probably been the first ones out of the room considering their national importance. You let out a small shriek that is muffled when a hand comes up to cover your mouth. You had assumed it was a guard leading you away, and just let him pull you down the corridor. Idiot! “Do not be alarmed” It was that man who had stared at you earlier. You bit down on his hand and tugged your arm out of his grasp. He hissed and let go as you spun around to face him.  
“I’m sorry but you just blew up a room which caught me on fire, and are trying to kidnap me, and I’m not supposed to be alarmed?!” You shout at him.  
“Don’t be ridiculous, I didn’t blow anything up. I am simply here to escort you away from an attack that we knew was going to happen. Everything is going according to plan, so if you will just come with me-”  
“If everything is going to plan then why did I catch on fire?” you retort. He looks down at your ripped skirt with a frown.  
“Yes, that was…unfortunate. But you are far from dead, though we will have to rush you to the medics so that they can get a look at your leg. That’s a nasty burn.” He says all of this in a somewhat bored tone. The adrenaline has kept you from noticing how terribly your leg hurts. As the pain comes flooding back you promptly fall to the ground. “Oh for-“ he mutters and leans down to scoop you up. He shoulders a door open and carries you to the backseat of a sleek black car that is waiting outside. You had never even noticed that door in the hallway because it was disguised to match the wallpaper. “My office.” He says to the chauffeur and the car is immediately in motion. “Arrange for the medics to meet us there” he says to a woman in the front seat with a phone. She nods and taps away at her phone. He reaches over to buckle you in before buckling up himself.  
You arrive at a mansion nearly as grand as the castle in a matter of minutes. He carries you out and up the walkway with the lady from the car trailing a few feet behind. You have no idea where you are since you seldom leave the castle and the windows in the car were so tinted you couldn’t see in or out. As he nears the doors the lady punches in a code on the wall and they swing inward. He carries you up a flight of stairs and into a room on the left. You notice a large oak desk covered in papers and a small golden plaque that reads “Mycroft Holmes”. He sets you down on a green leather sofa and walks back into the doorway. “Where are those medics?” he calls.  
“All occupied, Mycroft. Something to do with your brother. I think he’s been shot. Nothing fatal.”  
“Oh lord. Of all the days to get himself shot.” he mutters before answering. “I’ll take care of it then. Don’t bother me.” You hear her heels click on the marble floors downstairs as she walks away. He closes the door and turns the lock before shrugging off his coat and hanging it on the hat stand beside the door. Your eyes follow him as he walks across the room and pulls a key from his pocket that opens one of the bottom drawers on the desk. He takes out a rather large first aid kit and sits next to you on the sofa. He lays the kit open next to him and removes gauze and several smaller bottles. “Up.” He says patting his knee. You give him an incredulous look and he rolls his eyes and props your foot on his thigh himself. You hiss in a breath and pull your leg back when he lightly prods your wound. “Just as I thought.” He mutters and grabs your heel to pull your foot back down.  
“Careful!” you say, wincing. “I had to see how bad it was.” He explains. You glare at him as you let him continue to examine your leg. “This is going to sting he says, squeezing some gel onto a rag and dabbing it all over the wound. You let out a small scream and clench you teeth together to endure his touch. When he has covered the extent of the burn he says “All done.” You let out a breath and maneuver your leg so that it is easier for him to wrap the gauze around it.  
“Who are you anyway?” you ask to distract yourself.  
“Mycroft Holmes. Minor member of the British government."  
“Minor, huh?” you scoff looking around at the luxurious office. You smile when you see a treadmill in the corner.  
”Or not.” He adds with a shrug using a safety pin to hold the gauze in place. “All that you need to know is that I’m here to help you.”  
“I see, you’re the dark and mysterious type.” You joke and a small smile plays on his lips.  
“You could say that.” He answers, meeting your eyes with a piercing gaze. This time you are the one to quickly glance away, and to your horror you can feel a blush rising to your cheeks. You look back in time to see his smile widen at your embarrassment as he packs up the first aid kit. The orange light from the lamp in the room shines on him in such an angle that shadows gather in the hollow space under his cheekbones and add a sparkle to his eyes. He is very handsome you realize with a start. Very handsome. You watch the muscles in his back move as he returns the first aid kit to its drawer. There was something very attractive about this man because he didn’t seem…star struck or entranced by you. The effect was in fact opposite. Your heart beat sped up as he sat beside you again. “What?’ He asked, and you realized you were staring again.  
“Nothing, it’s just…” you trail off. He scoots a nearer, laying a hand on your arm with a surprising amount of worry in his eyes.  
“What is it?” You find yourself leaning forward and are again surprised when he doesn’t pull away. You feel his breath raising chill bumps on your neck.  
“…It’s just that you’re beautiful.” You say as your eyes flutter shut. You cover the measly inches between your faces and capture his lips in a kiss. His arms immediately slide around your back and pull you closer. You reach a hand up to cup his face and he leans into it and he kisses you back. You both spring apart when his phone rings loudly from his pocket. He pulls it out and you see that the caller I.D. reads Sherlock.  
“Oh, what is it now?” he growls and types in his passcode. “What?” he says impatiently into the receiver.  
“Mycroft you’ve been kissing haven’t you? I can tell by your breathing. Naughty boy.”  
“Get on with it, Sherlock.” Mycroft growls.  
“Well some one’s eager to ‘get back to it’ as they say. Or maybe they don’t. I can never tell. Either way cotton candy is dangerous.”  
“What in the world?” “I tried to stop them Mycroft, I really did. But there’s not much you can do when a group of seven year olds go terrorist. At least you will enjoy they sweet fluffiness in your final moments. We both will…goodbye." The phone call ends with the sound of little girls voices giggling manically on the other side.  
“What?” you ask, but stop when blue fluff starts to ooze into the office from under the door.  
“Death by cotton candy.” Mycroft muses as pink fluff streams in through the air vents. “It’s not how I thought I’d go, but one never can control these things.”  
“I suppose not.” You say. The cotton candy has risen to your chests and you tear off a piece to eat.  
“Well we might as well go out with some dignity.” He says standing up on the couch.  
“Might as well.” You answer standing to join in. “On three.” you say.  
“One...two…three!” He counts and you both stand up on the arms of the chair and dive into the cotton candy like synchronized swimmers, never to rise again.


End file.
